


In His Arms

by lolo313



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Arthur, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolo313/pseuds/lolo313
Summary: Merlin takes to sleepwalking, trying even to slip into Arthur's bed. As his condition worsens, Arthur begins to worry. After a narrowly avoided tragedy, Arthur must nurse Merlin back to health.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tayathestrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tayathestrange/gifts).



> Thank you so much to the organizer for their tireless effort in putting together this fest. It was a joy to participate.

 

            Camelot slept beneath a blanket of snow. The battlements shone white in the moonlight, the flapping cloaks of the guards on patrol scarlet as fresh spilled blood. Every window had been shut tight, the cracks stuffed with rags to keep out the cold. The hearths which once crackled with flames had since cooled to glowing embers.

            Arthur curled his body tight against the chill, tugging his blankets close. The heated stones at the foot of his bed did little to keep his shivers at bay. He turned towards the window, through which a ghostly glow fell upon the floor. He pulled the covers up over his face. His breath came in warm puffs, the air in his cocoon damp.

            He hated winter. The short days and frigid nights. Chapped lips and frostbitten fingers. Arthur rolled back over, desperate for warmth. Still, with time his breathing slowed and his eyelids grew heavy. His pulse hushed to a whisper. He swam on the edge of sleep when the creaking of his bedroom door pulled from him the promise of slumber. A draft swept into the room, running its chilled fingers up the bones of Arthur’s spine. He shivered as he freed his head from the covers to see who would dare disturb him at such an hour.

            Merlin stood in the doorway, haloed by torchlight from the hall. Clad only in a long nightshirt, his bare thighs shone white in the pale moonlight. He almost hovered, suspended in the dimness, so out of place Arthur thought perhaps he dreamt. But then Merlin stepped into Arthur’s room, the soft pad of his feet barely covered by his breathing, and pulled back the covers of Arthur’s bed.

            Cold air hit Arthur’s bed warmed body with the force of a blow. His breath cut short, he gasped as he struggled the blankets out of Merlin’s hands.

            “ _Mer_ lin! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Arthur tucked the sheets tight round his body as he stood, rounding the bed to barrel towards Merlin, who stood unmoving and glassy eyed. “Are you listening?” Arthur smacked the back of Merlin’s head, not unkindly, when Merlin failed to respond.

            As if submerged in freezing water, Merlin startled to, his knees knocking as he narrowly avoided crumbling to the ground. The spark of recognition had returned to his eyes when his gaze fell upon Arthur.

            “Wha—Arthur? What are you—” Merlin turned about, wide-eyed in confusion. “This isn’t my bedroom.”

            “Really, Merlin, are you just putting that together?” Arthur grabbed a handful of blanket that had slipped off his chest and bunched it up over his shoulder. “Do you know what time it is? What are you even doing here?”

            Merlin hugged himself, the skin of his arms goose-pimpled. His mouth hung empty, hungry for an explanation “I…” He stumbled over his tongue. “I was dreaming.”

            Arthur scoffed, turning Merlin round and ushering him to the door. “Next time, dream about your _own_ bed.” In the hallway, Merlin hesitated for a moment as if lost, before turning to go. Arthur watched the pink of his soles fade into obscurity.

 

            Merlin made no comment about his nocturnal visit when he served Arthur’s breakfast the next morning. Arthur observed Merlin’s languorous step, noticing the darkened circles hanging heavy beneath his eyes.

            “Late night?” Arthur asked around a mouthful of sausage. Merlin continued to ball up Arthur’s discarded clothes as if he hadn’t heard. Arthur swallowed and cleared his throat. Merlin looked up, blinking.

            “What?”

            “Goodness, Merlin,” Arthur scoffed, “did you sleep at all last night?”

            “Sorry.” Merlin bent back down to pick another shirt off the floor. “I was up half the night tossing and turning.”

            “You did more than that.” Arthur bit into a hunk of bread, chewed, swallowed. “What on earth were you doing, wandering into my room in the middle of the night like that?”

            Merlin fumbled, nearly dropping the bundle of clothes. His head snapped up, quirked to the side. “What are you talking about?”

            “You let yourself into my room. You nearly crawled into my bed.”

            Merlin gave a weak laugh. “I did _not_!”

            Arthur sat up, palms flat on the table. “You most certainly did!”

            “Look.” Merlin hefted the laundry onto his hip. “I don’t know what dream you’re confusing reality with—”

            “Dream?” Arthur’s eyes widened big as saucers. “You think I was dreaming about _you_?”

            “Well how else do you explain thinking you saw me in your bed in the middle of the night?”

            “You were not _in_ my bed!”

            “See?” Merlin opened the door, turning to look back at Arthur. “Can’t even keep your story straight.”

            Merlin closed the door just in time for the apple Arthur hurled to explode against the wood.

 

            Arthur stayed up half the night, fuming. At every creak, he started, turning his head whenever the wind whispered. Past midnight he began pacing, bare soles on the chilled stone. He went so far as to poke hiss head out into the hallway, surprising a passing guard.

            “My Lord!” The guard bowed. “Is something amiss?”

            “No, I was just…” Arthur straightened, opening the door fully. “No. Everything is fine. Just thought I’d heard something is all. As you were.” The guard bowed again, continuing down the hall, when Arthur added, “you haven’t seen Merlin, have you?”

            “Your manservant? No, my Lord. Shall I fetch him?”

            “No!” Arthur shouted. Collecting himself, he lowered his voice. “That won’t be necessary. I was just wondering. Goodnight.” Arthur shut the door and retreated to his bed.

 

            Arthur awoke late, groggy and cotton-headed. The sun had begun to color the sky pink when he’d fallen at last into a fitful slumber. Arthur looked about; no one had been by to serve his breakfast, and his clothes for the day had failed to be laid out. He padded to the window, peering out. The sun hung high over the horizon, nearer noon than dawn.

            “That lazy, good-for-nothing…” Arthur grumbled as he dressed. He scaled the tower to Gaius’ chambers, not bothering to knock as he threw open the door. “Alright, where is he?”

            Gaius looked up from the manuscript he’d been studying, blinking in confusion. “Where is who, my Lord?”

            “Merlin, that’s who!” My so-called manservant.” Arthur moved past Gaius towards the stairs to Merlin’s room. “Do you know what time it is? Breakfast should have been served hours ago.” Arthur opened the door. A draft flew past him. The bed, unmade, was empty.

            “I thought he was with you,” Gaius called from the bottom of the stairs. “When I awoke he was already gone.”

            A feeling not unlike panic swam into Arthur’s heart. He spun round to look at Gaius. “Did you hear anything in the night? Did anyone come in?”

            “No.” Gaius followed Arthur with his eyes as he made to leave. “Nothing.”

            “Stay here.” Arthur paused in the doorway. “And send word if you see anything.”

            Arthur raced through the castle. Who could have slipped past Camelot’s defenses? His mind ran to Morgana. The Druids. Any number of rival lords. Arthur called to every knight he passed, raising the alarm and ordering them to sweep the castle and grounds for any sign of Merlin.

            Arthur’s heart pounded, his thoughts slick with dread and the rush of adrenaline. How quickly could he organize a search party and how many knights should he send? He whirled about in place, torn by indecision. His breath came short, constricted by a sudden tightness in his chest. He reached out a hand, leaning his weight against the wall. A knight rushed around the corner. Arthur stood straight, despite the wobble in his knees.

            “Sire.” The knight bowed his head. “We found him.”

            Merlin had been discovered, curled into a ball, still in his nightclothes, in a seldom used wing of the castle. He appeared to have collapsed from exhaustion. His skin was cool and clammy. Arthur had him taken to Gaius, who assured him Merlin would recover fully with rest. Though he protested, Gaius shooed Arthur from Merlin’s bedside, telling him not to worry.

 

            Arthur worried.

            That very evening, and every one since, Arthur had guards posted outside Gaius’ chambers to ensure Merlin ceased his moonlit wandering. Despite putting his best men on it, Merlin still somehow managed to slip past them, as if by magic. Arthur had taken to waiting up half the night, wandering the castle in search of him, or else waiting by his bedroom door to intercept him and guide him gently back to bed.

            What was most troublesome was Merlin’s apparent lack of any recollection of his sleepwalking. He awoke always in a state of utter surprise and confusion, unaware of how he’d ended up outside Arthur’s room, or the armory, or the great hall. The late nights began to wear on him. He became even more careless than usual in his duties, late always in serving Arthur’s breakfast, and more than once Arthur had caught him nodding off while shining his boots. His skin had grown paler, and he wore a thin, tired mask over his normally bright and cheerful countenance.

            Truth be told, Arthur himself felt spread thin. He often had to fight to suppress a yawn during council meetings, and he grew short and stern with the knights. On several occasions he’d stopped short of biting a young recruit’s head off for a simple mistake during training. Try as he might to put Merlin out of his mind and get a good night’s rest, he couldn’t. Arthur would lay abed, tossing and turning until he’d drag himself upright and take to searching.

            Tonight was no different. Arthur had spent the better half of the last two hours wandering with no sign of Merlin. Heavy snowfall blanketed the grounds. A hush fell over Camelot. The guards’ findings were as unfruitful as Arthur’s, yet Gaius confirmed Merlin had once again slipped from his bed.

            Despite his cloak, Arthur shivered from the cold. His eyes itched from want of sleep. His knees creaked as he climbed the stairs back to his chambers. Moonlight fell across the stairwell, niveous as the whispered snow. Arthur paused to glance out the window. The wind blew a flurry of flakes by the tree line. Arthur narrowed his eyes and looked harder. The branches neither swayed nor shook. The air was still, and he heard no whistle of wind. What he’d mistaken for snow drift was in fact a figure, clad in white, limping towards the forest.

            “Merlin!”

            Arthur flew down the stairs, leaping them two at a time. He tore from the castle, sinking to his ankles in fresh powder. He stumbled as he ran, but he could see Merlin clearly now on the edge of the trees. His knees wobbled and Arthur watched him collapse.

            “Merlin, Merlin!” The frigid air sliced Arthur’s throat as he shouted. He fell to his knees when he reached him, gathering Merlin into his arms. His skin was glacial, his lips a soft blue. His eyes, half-shut, stared unseeing.

            Arthur carried him into the castle. He started at first to climb the tower towards Gaius’ chambers, but remembering the chill in Merlin’s unheated room, Arthur turned instead towards the stairs to his own room.

            The fire had burnt low, barely more than embers, as Arthur lay Merlin down in his bed. He pulled the covers over his body, tucking them around his frail form. He stoked the fire back to life and stripped down to his bedclothes.

            Arthur became, in that moment, a knight, forged through years of rigid training. He knew how to strike to injure, to maim, to kill. Knew how to saddle a horse and pitch a camp. His expertise extended, too, to survival—where to find fresh water, what roots and nuts would sustain a man without other provisions, and how to survive being trapped in a snowstorm. Once, years before, he and his men had had to hunker down in a cave as the storm raged outside. The temperature had dropped to dangerous levels, and it was only through their collective body heat that they’d managed to survive the night.

            Careful, Arthur peeled back the covers as he slipped into bed. He slotted his body behind Merlin’s. As his thigh brushed his, his skin turned to gooseflesh. He pulled the blanket up over his chest, making sure to tuck it in tightly. Merlin shivered against his chest. Gentle as a mother, Arthur wrapped a hand round Merlin’s middle, holding him securely against his body. He laid his head on the pillow besides Merlin’s. Flakes of white stood out against the midnight of his hair. Arthur watched them melt and turn to wet. His chin nestled against Merlin’s shoulder.

            Slowly, Merlin’s shivers stilled and ceased. His breath, once shaky, evened out to match Arthur’s, their heartbeats falling into synch. Merlin curled against the shell of Arthur’s body, their legs tangling, as Merlin reached up to grab Arthur’s arm, hugging it tight against him. Arthur felt the warmth return slowly to Merlin’s fingers, wrapped round his wrist. The moonlight fell upon his cheeks, upon the rose of his lips. Sleep came gentle as the dawn.

 

            Despite Gaius’ protests, Arthur insisted on keeping Merlin in his room. “He’ll freeze to death if he goes back there.” In the end, Gaius had to acquiesce—Arthur was the king, after all. He forestalled all official duties, spending his days tending to Merlin, who gradually returned to health. At first he was too weak to do much other than lie abed. Arthur tended the fire, keeping it roaring, bringing extra blankets and fluffing Merlin’s pillows. At meals he held an arm round his back to keep him upright, feeding him spoonfuls of soup prescribed by Gaius. Merlin spoke little, passing between bouts of deep, restful sleep long enough only to eat and relieve himself. At night Arthur undressed and wrapped himself around Merlin, holding him close. After that first night, Merlin initially stiffened in Arthur’s arms, unsure and hesitant. But gradually he softened, so now he turned instinctively towards Arthur, resting his head on his chest as he fell asleep.

            As the days wore on and the color returned to Merlin’s cheeks, he became more talkative. Arthur was relieved to find Merlin returning to his chatty self. They spent many hours talking on various topics of little import—reports of record snowfall, the approaching midwinter festival, which knight was bedding which maid. Arthur forbade Merlin to resume his duties till he’d fully recovered, practically ordering him to bed whenever he tried to slip from beneath the covers.

            “But Arthur,” Merlin protested, “I’m fine, really!”

            “You nearly froze to death, I won’t hear of it. Not until Gaius gives you the all clear.” This Gaius had done two days ago, but Arthur thought it best to be on the safe side. A lingering fear still gnawed at the back of Arthur’s mind. Though there’d been no further incident, Arthur could not help but worry that the day he let Merlin return to his own bed, he’d once more wander off into the cold. Many nights Arthur lay awake, watching Merlin sleep, his mind adrift with worry. What if Arthur wasn’t there to find him this time? He couldn’t bear the thought. And Merlin did not seem overly to mind staying in Arthur’s bed, larger and more sumptuous than his own.

            They fell into an easy rhythm, Merlin calling Arthur to bed when the hour grew later than he’d thought, lost in reports and courtly documents. With only the light of the fire to cast their shadows upon the walls, they’d drift slowly off to sleep, speaking in whispers, their hearts open in the safety of the night. Arthur shared the burden of being Uther’s son, of growing up knowing the weight of the destiny before you. Merlin admitted to the hardship of his life back in Ealdor, which he missed despite the comforts of Camelot. He regaled Arthur with farm tales, of disobedient goats and tricks played on the local smith. Arthur had had to cover his mouth to stop from worrying the guards with his laughter. When Merlin spoke of his mother, his voice grew distant.

            “I’ve been dreaming about her.” Arthur stopped stroking Merlin’s back to pull away and look down at him.

            “Do you miss her?”

            Merlin nodded his head. “I can’t help feeling something’s wrong. I…they just felt so real.”

            “Is that why you’ve been sleepwalking?” Merlin didn’t answer, his eyes focused on some point over Arthur’s shoulder. “Well, would you feel better if I sent some knights to check on her?” Merlin looked up at him, gaze tender and unbelieving. Arthur pressed on. “We could go ourselves, once you’re better. It’s not like there’s any urgent business to attend to. Besides, Camelot’s so dreary in the winter.” Arthur offered this nonchalantly, with a shrug of his shoulder, but he felt Merlin’s heart speed up. He hugged him close, the top of his head just beneath Arthur’s chin.

            “Thank you.” He spoke the words into Arthur’s chest, his lips moving against his skin. Almost like a kiss. “Thank you.”

            Arthur brought a hand to Merlin’s head, his fingers curling into his hair. He pressed into the small of his back, holding him close as he let his eyes drift shut. “Get some rest. We’ve got a journey to plan.”

            Outside, snow began to fall.


End file.
